


Spies and Circuses

by Skyepilot



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: 1800s, Aliens, Alternate Universe, Ancient Technology, Angst, Archery, Circus, England (Country), Evil dinner parties, F/M, Feminist Themes, Fury being Fury, Grant Ward is awful, Historical References, London, References to Jane Austen, SHIELD, Sexual Tension, Simmons wanting Trip's bod, Sorry Mr. Kerr, Taking major license with science, The Ward Clan, Wet Coulson 'cause
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-05
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 07:33:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2723984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/pseuds/Skyepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Response to prompt: Jane Austen version "comedy of manners" AU with witty banter and classist/racist society trying to keep Phil and Skye apart. He's a lonely officer back from the field and Skye is the feminist orphan writing under a pseudonym. They clash, they fall in love, they get harassed by the upper class!</p><p>First chapter, ongoing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introduction

A quiet home in the country.  Away from the noise of the city, with its politics and pollution.  And still, it was not yet quiet enough.

Something inside of him still banged the war drum.  It was what he wished to silence.

Having seen enough of life abroad, he had hoped to return to familiarity, to not feel like an alien in his own land.  Unsuccessful months in London upon his return had convinced him to come to Highbury instead, with its modest cottages and the ringing church bells that filled some empty corner of his spirit. He had a large enough sum to take a house there and so he did in the summer.

The neighbors were varied enough; two small families, one a widow and her quiet son (his father had been a Scotsman and a retired blacksmith), and the other a busy house which included a daughter with a very intense interest in naturalism, often given to polite argumentation at the dinners to which he had been invited.

His only possessions brought along were some of his finer suits from a London tailor (the father of a man who he had met in service) and his family crest. 

It bore the motto: I would die for those I love.  And the accompanying feeling: _he had no one left to die for_.

***

In the village he decided to retrieve his letters, and made his way to the shop.  As he lifted his copy of The Oxford Gazette, a piece of paper slid out from between its pages.

He bent down, flipping back the tails of his waistcoat and picked it up, looking over the tract.

On it was a quote printed in scrolled pen atop the page, “ _Virtue can only flourish among equals_ ,” that caught his eye.

Leaving the shop with his paper tucked under his arm, he read the surprising addition as he strolled down the village road.

_Women ought to have representatives, instead of being arbitrarily governed without any direct share allowed them in the deliberations of government._

And there was more, the style of writing seemed to break, although the sentence before had been attributed to a M. Mary Wollstonecraft.  The style after referred to  Wollstonecraft in the third person as a visionary, clearly indicating that someone else had written the tract and sourced from another.

He could tell by the quality of the paper and the ink it was done in quite a hurry, and at little expense.  This tiny piece of paper had begun to make the corridors of  his mind so well-versed in espionage stir to life, and he stared back down upon it with resentment.

Shoving it away into his waistcoat, he determined himself to not think on it any longer as he made his way to the inn to have a morning cup of tea.

Ah, the bells.

He was due for another trip to London at any rate.

 

***

The offices for The Oxford Gazette smelled like machines and ink.  He stepped towards the counter looking over the man busy just behind. 

“Are there more of these?” he asked, holding up the tract to the man.

“Why would you want more?” the man sneered, looking down at him across the top of his spectacles.  His tie was in really in very poor taste, Coulson thought.

“I am conducting a military investigation into this matter,” he lied, folding the paper up and putting it away, seeing the way the man was eyeing it, as though he might snatch it out of his hand.  “Sadly, I cannot say more.”

“Outrageous, should be prosecuted,” the man said. “The paper is approved by the Crown and there is already an investigation underway.”

“By whom, if I may say?” he asked the publisher’s assistant.  The man was clearly in charge and under a deadline based on the sweat at his brow and the activity behind him.  Or was it laudanum?

“High Court Judge Ward,” the man said. “But his man that was here, last name was Garrett.”

“Tall, brown hair and rough manners?” Coulson asked with a smile.

“Sounds a bit like him,” the man said, getting impatient.

Coulson tipped his hat at him and walked out the door.

This sounded just like a man he knew.  John Garrett had served in the same ranks, but the man had been discharged from duty when he was severely injured during war with France.

It had been some time since they had corresponded.  John was given to excessive drinking and gambling, still angry over the tactical advantage their enemies possessed and the lack of competence of his own commander.  He blamed him for the injuries he had sustained, and it was a nasty wound.  Not the kind of thing you recover from entirely, he suspected.

He understood the feeling.

Turning down the street he came to bump into someone unexpectedly coming around the corner in full fury.

“Pardon,” he said, realizing it was a lady.

There was just the smallest moment, as a pair of huge brown eyes flashed up at him from below the hat on her head, and she turned back over her shoulder. 

He memorized them, the intelligence in them. Something more was at work here, soon confirmed by the angry man rounding the corner.

Young and handsome, with a bit of a leering sort of smile, he took one look at her standing near him and bristled.

“Skye, darling,” he said, warning thick in his voice. “Quite late to change your mind. If we sit down, talk things through...”

The young woman grabbed Coulson at the wrist and held fast, then eyed the track peeking out of his waistcoat with recognition and surprise.

Their eyes met for only a second, but it was all the confirmation he would need.

“Skye,” Coulson said pleasantly, placing his hand over her wrist. “I only wish you were more punctual.”

“I should make an introduction," she said smartly. "This is Grant Ward,” she said, glancing at the younger man.

He knew what she had insinuated.  Caution and that he was the son of the High Court Judge.  Coulson had friends up in high enough places himself.

“We should be going,” he said, turning his back on the younger man and leading her away with him.

The air sang with the sound of the blade missing his shoulder and he turned and pushed her out of the way to safety in order to bring his hand down across the other fellow at the elbow, then gripped his wrist as they struggled for possession of the knife, the man easily turning the blade back on him.

Skye let out a little cry and Coulson looked to see two men across the street who had been previous preoccupied with some sort of street gambling begin to stalk towards them.

“How helpful,” he said to her, his tone implying just the opposite, as he struggled to keep the blade from his throat.

Ward was stronger and his training spoke of his experience on the streets, but finesse was not to be praised in situations like these.  Coulson had been in too many places, in too many narrow scrapes, to tolerate this much longer in a gentlemanly fashion.

Ward yelped and gasped for air when the girl struck at his throat.  She clung to the shoe in her hand.

The knife clattered to the ground as he held his throat and Skye slipped her shoe back on and taking Coulson by his arm, pulled him away with her and down the street as they were chased.

“I never did such a thing before,” she said with a laugh, as her hat flew from her head.

Coulson could only dare wonder at what he had gotten himself into.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skye and Coulson make their escape to the countryside.

"Watch your hem," he said guiding them away from the filth on the street.

"What polite manners," she said. "I would so dearly love to congratulate them were we not racing from certain death."

"Do you have a fondness for dying?" he asked. "You appear quite cheerful."

"You read my tract," she said, and her blissful expression almost gave him pause.

Instead he helped her up the steps with her dress as they headed into the alley beyond, pushing past a pair of chimney sweeps.

"Oh, to wear trousers and braces rather than these layers upon layers!" she cried out as they turned the corner, raising up her dress.

The look he gave her was a little shocking so she stared back at him. "Perhaps fleeing in heels might suit you more than it does me?"

Rather than laugh at her impertinence he decided to look ahead as they ran across the open courtyard, eyes falling on a bunch of flower carts ahead in front of the church.

"Are you a military man?" she asked.

"Clever, in addition to being well dressed," he said, sounding rather pleased. Probably having guessed by his carrying her tract and the subscription that required along with his ease at fighting. 

"This is a ruse.  A costume," she said as birds scattered behind them when the men after them continued pursuit. "I would settle for a uniform and assume be done,"  she said as she ducked behind a cart and then she got to the ground and he felt a tug at his boot.  

With a sigh he was on his knees following her in an undignified crawl beneath a row of carts in the dirt until they reached the porch of the building and slipped into a small crawl space below it.

"I do believed they have lost us," she said with a tiny and victorious smile.

"Or they may have never even considered crawling on their knees in the dirt to pursue," he said, looking down at his trousers.  "Is this a common method of transport for you?  I prefer a carriage."

"Of course you do," she said. "I prefer to not be killed and then have my body tossed in the river."

"What kind of people have you mixed in with?" he asked, more and more troubled.

"The worst sort," she said, looking terribly regretful.  "Men of privilege."

***

They walked back to the inn where he was staying, his eyes carefully canvassing the street as they did.

"Although afraid to ask, I shall. How did you attract this man's interest?" he said, trying not to smile at the tilt of her head.

"As act of rebellion towards his family," she said with a sigh. "I suppose that is how it began. Naturally, a girl from a colony who would publish tracts demanding equality for women would delight them."

"He is your suitor, then?" he asked.

"Financier of my publishing," she said crossly.  He thought back to her face after she had beaten Ward with her shoe and flinched. "Then I discovered his taste for arson.  And mayhem. He intends to blackmail me."

"I think worse than blackmail," he said, stopping and standing for a moment in the street with her. "Is there something perhaps more pressing you would like to share, or do you intend to continue withholding information?"

Her fingers wrung together as she looked away from him, blushing slightly.  "Do you prefer to guess?"

"What land is your mother from?"

"China," she said proudly, her eyes darted back and forth at the passing faces.

"And your father?" he asked.

"An Englishman," she said, looking down. "Even a soldier, like yourself?"

"You do not even know your own parentage?" he asked, both a little shocked and also saddened. That this bright and resourceful young woman had managed to navigate a place like this and not fall into either poverty or more precarious circumstances astonished him.

"How can I help you?" he asked, his mind made up.

The retreat she had taken began to make its reverse as she looked him over for the first time with genuine appraisal, staring into his blue eyes.

Heat within him rose up to his shirt collar, but he still managed to hold her gaze, convinced that it was intended only to appraise his character.

"You have a kindness about you," she said, after a moment. "Which I am not so acquainted with."

"I am Phillip James Coulson, former intelligence officer in Her Majesty's service," he said, giving a slight bow.

"A spy," she said, seeming delighted, putting her fingers to cover her mouth.

"The crude term," he said, sniffing and glancing at the street around them.  "However, yes."

"Fate has brought me a rather fortunate friend," she said.  "I think there is a plot underway. I should tell you more if you still want to hear."

"Over dinner perhaps?" he asked. "If, you would care to dine with me."

He watched as a blush rose to her cheeks. "I must hide myself away. Keep my wits about me," she said, as people stopped and stared at the dirt covering them both.

"Might you consider the countryside, then?" he asked.  "Quite a lovely hiding place in the summertime."

***

"It is beautiful country," she said, leaning out of the carriage as they bounced along the roadway.

She breathed in deeply, as though it was the first time, but having been many.  The rolling green hills spotted with oaks and the blue sky above had delighted her so that he must wonder when was the last time she had stepped foot outside of London.

"My place is nothing, save some charming neighbors and a few small rooms," he answered, trying to hide the excitement in this voice.  Something about this girl invigorated him.

She had secrets, to be certain, but her openness and her passion for her ideals stirred in him something that he had shoved down so long ago.  His time in service has made him so cynical as to be a man of straw he realized.  The anger over the injustice he had seen had been drawn up to the surface again, but instead of feeling lost within it, it had taken the shape of armor to him.

"Are your neighbors quite provincial?" she asked, breaking him from his heady thoughts.

"Quite," he said, a bit of resignation in his tone.  "Tolerable, though."

"So, then I must play a part here as well."

"If the value is to be had in being hidden," he smiled back at her.

"A chambermaid, perhaps?" she said, untying her jacket and putting it beside her on the seat.

He noticed the chain of a necklace, the end of which was hidden beneath her bodice.

"No," he said, sternly, refocusing his attention.  "The daughter of a dear friend on holiday in the countryside, both parents who recently passed while her father served in China.  Naturally, she is looking for a placement at a home in London and would like my assistance."

"You will get nothing but stares.  I am only half a human to them."

"And I will endure their stares, and they will endure mine," he said, looking through his letters which they had retrieved from the inn in London before departing. "Ah!  Word from a friend in the Americas. He sends the son of a friend ahead in the hopes I can put him forward for a position."

"Americans," Skye said, looking far too eager and he was slightly appalled. Regardless, she continued on. "I read their publications, however, meeting one should prove..."

"He is _of_ the Americas, he is _not_ American," Coulson corrected.  "Although, his name, Antoine. French names are not popular at the moment," he said with a sigh.

"You sigh, but you seem cut from the right cloth to entertain foreigners and revolutionaries."

"My business," he said.  "Has been since I was a young man.  I had a talent for escaping difficult situations."

She sat up quite straight, her posture displaying her interest all directed at him, which amused him greatly. "A thief, then," she said, with a hint of scandal in her tone.

"My father was a kind of thief," he said, looking away out over the rolling hills.  "I was educated in learning to cover up his lies."

"And where is your father now?" she inquired gently.

 "Passed on, and my mother with him."

"I see," she answered, her eyes fixating on the countryside as her hand went to touch the chain at her neck.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skye settles in at Chateau Coulson.

He was educating her in archery.  A noble pursuit.

Hands about her waist to make sure she had taken the proper stance and his arm guiding her movements as she adjusted.

The pistol would have to wait, since it was less quiet and would tend to attract attention, even though their nearest neighbors were far off.

Skye had settled quite well into all things.  They spent most of the day together, except when retiring for the evening or when he made his way into town.  

Word had already spread of her existence, and although no one had done the more predictable overtures, he sensed that soon he would inevitably have this peaceful existence ruptured by the reality of life.

Reality was not what he longed for at the moment.  Skye intrigued him and he felt like a willing prisoner in his own home to all of her whims.  From her digging through the library and his papers to read to him for hours, to her fascination with his travels and her interest in the people there.

Today, it was afternoon and on the back lawn, hidden by convenient trees and practising together.

He watched her release the arrow and get very close to the mark on the target.

"Well done," he said, as she smiled back at him, lowering the bow.

"I must confess, I have practised before," she said. 

"Where?" he asked, suddenly curious. 

"Among a traveling circus," she answered him, raising her eyebrow, then lifting another arrow from the quiver near her feet.

They both stared at the tree which was the target, painted in a very rudimentary manner, only partially visible beneath the leaves of the canopy.

"Who places a target outside of clear view?" she asked, pulling the bow taught. "Not someone offering a contest of skill."

She let the arrow fly as it hit nearer the heart of its aim.

"More likely for someone to develop their skill," she said with a courting smile.

"Boredom and no one to contest," he said, turning her thoughts back to the task. "I should see you hit the mark."

Skye pulled forth another arrow and began to draw it. 

"Careful," he said, lining up her arms with his light touches, making corrections and explaining them where he saw fit.

"What goes on?"

Skye let the arrow fly and they both turned to the young man standing nearby.

"I am educating her in archery," Coulson said, a hint of irritation wavering in his voice.

"That is just how it appears," the young man said in a stilted manner, as though he was being polite only for appearances.  He held out a letter to Coulson.

"An invitation, to a ball," he said, as Coulson drew it from his hand. "This is your acquaintance from adventuring? The daughter of, I mean to say, that is..."

"Skye," Coulson said cutting in to his way of speaking without care to the recipient. "This is Leopold Fitz.  Leo, her custom is to use first names only. It is quite offensive otherwise."

Skye held her reservations and studied him as well while watching how her host would manage this encounter.

"Charmed," he answered, his Scottish accent failing to mask a mind that was only half engaged.  "Anything to do with dancing makes me come down with hives." 

He said it with confession, his shoulders raised as though he expected to be contradicted immediately.

"Might you practice with Skye?" Coulson offered. "In order to gain confidence with other partners?"

"Surely," he replied, and then scratched his head. "When?"

"Afternoons. If your mother agrees."

"Yes. Fine. Good day."

As he walked away, Skye turned on him to offer her distinct opinion. "As much as I delight in being a sacrificial lamb, it is not you who has to do the dancing."

"We are invited to the ball to be found out," Coulson answered.  "His mother has the habit of obtaining peculiarities for public consumption. This plants a convenient seed which will dispel the appearance of impropriety."

"Ah," she answered. "Little, private humiliations, before the public ones?"

"It will arouse more suspicion to remain hidden," he said. "Humiliation is inevitable. But, you will not suffer it alone."

"You astonish me, in part," she said, putting the bow down on the nearby table.

"I should like to astonish you in every possible way," he said, before even understanding his own thoughts entirely.  

"Should we have tea, then?" he added politely, clearing his throat, when she looked away.

***

They parted for the remainder of the day before they would supper, and he felt restless, deciding to go off hunting.

He would need to send Skye to town for some measurements in order that she should have a proper dress for the ball.  She was in need of a new dress at any rate considering her single dress was, in fact, a ruse.

The restlessness stirring inside of him was left over from the afternoon and he was holding onto his bold words and wondering how quickly Skye would desire to leave his company.  Even enjoying a great deal of freedom in this place, it was too much to think someone with her temperament and cleverness would be anything but bored eventually.

She probably longed for London in her heart, were it not for the Wards and their ilk.

She had told him that she believed the Wards had a long history of covering up the victims of the crimes of their handsome and popular son.  Many of which were from among the poor and so it was never investigated or made into news.   Her suspicion was that Ward was connected to someone in the palace and therefore he had free reign to do as he would, and that this person would often use him as a weapon to eliminate political enemies.

This disturbed him greatly and only made his desire to ferret out the man behind the man even greater.

He lie down in the brush near the water and waited for the flutter of wings as he slowly pointed the musket at the right angle then fired.

The sound echoed among the nearby scene and he stood and went to retrieve the dead fowl.

***

She was not opposed to the idea of dancing, just the idea of dancing with a perfect stranger.  She had long learned to not trust strangers, no matter how fine their manners were.

If Coulson found that stammering lad to be safe enough, she must suppose that he is.  And knowing his profession, she has begun to wonder at many strange things in his home, such as the lack of personal effects.  The books do not seem to his taste at all.  Only his clothing.  And perhaps her conversation?

He is much older, but he is a gentleman and his life so varied he can speak on any subject and with great amusement.  She is not sure, although, about his fondness and what it might mean.  His profession also makes him so terribly curious that she imagines he wants to know about her necklace, and is grateful he has been polite enough not to ask.

Her only possession from her parents that remains.  It is some kind of key, and she believes it holds a great secret. She has been searching all of her life since she escaped from the home for wayward children and found her own way in the streets.

In the late afternoon sun, she walks the grounds waiting for Coulson to return from his hunt.  There is a small pond she has been to on a few occasions and she and her thoughts make her way to it and removing her shoes, she looks around before daring to wade in, lifting her skirts above her knees.

A sudden splash and Coulson stands up out of the water before her, his underclothes soaked to the bone, and wiping the water from his face.

Their eyes meet for just a moment, hers travel over his wet clothes, and she hides her face noticing now a musket and a dead fowl lying on the shore.

"I wanted to cool myself after hunting," he says. She hears him wading back to the opposite shore as she turns back to watch him go.

He cuts a striking figure in the warm light, it pulls at her heart a little.  His gentility and his rough edges hiding beneath, and she notes he has as many layers as she does, even if he does not wear them all.  As she gathers her boots and points herself towards the house, she suddenly longs for a cool bit of breeze.

There is not as much talking as usual when they dine together later.  Only looks. And indecipherable ones at that.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens.

Skye is completely charmed by Antoine Triplett, to the point that if Coulson were not so charmed himself, he would scarce hesitate to send him off straightaway.

He is not prone to jealousy, but he finds now that he quite certainly is, as they take off riding together on the horses almost once each day, him showing her his mastery of them.

And he knows many of the books in the house, and his smiles and manners are as refined as his own. He is also a head taller than him, young and in fine form. Unlike Coulson, he makes no comment when she openly longs for a pair of riding trousers. Instead he laughs infectiously and you wish to indulge him in any possible way so he will laugh more.

The man's father was part of the regiment in the Americas and a spy. He was a spy for both sides, being conflicted about many things, but a good man and Coulson feels that debt is now his to repay to his son.

As much as he wishes to deny it, having his home with yet another addition suits him. Being able to look at Skye uninterrupted as she speaks at length with Antoine about the abolitionists is an added benefit.

She seems to lack in any surprise at the matter, but is pleased nonetheless, to learn he is an abolitionist himself. She asks him if he is for sufferage besides and he offers to employ her to educate him further.

Triplett laughs at the two of them with frequency. And he is quite certain the younger man has determined his fondness for her is more than as a mentor or a help. The man always manages to withdraw himself when interests compete.

How polite of him.

"Skye!"

A fourth voice joins the room. It is Jemma Simmons, come to fetch Skye for her journey to the village for her measurements.

No doubt in order to inform her family all about Skye and the arrival of Antoine, but they have all politely tolerated one another up to this point and he sees no reason why this should change as long as all of their secrets remain buried.

"Jemma," Skye said, clasping the other girl's hands. "This is Antoine Triplett. Visiting from America."

Antoine smiled brilliantly and gave her a deep bow.

"I see," Jemma said. "And you are part of the regiment there?"

"Was," Antoine answered politely. "I am off soon to London to establish myself there. For a time. Mr. Coulson intends to put in a good word for me."

Jemma looked over at Coulson and smiled briefly. "He is so kind to put in good words for so many," she said, turning to Skye.

"You should be off," Coulson said, looking over to Skye and then to Jemma. "The dressmaker might be very busy, what with a ball coming up."

"Your parents were too kind to invite us," Skye said.

Jemma rolled her eyes slightly. "Yes, too kind to want to observe every single relation to our dear Mr. Coulson. My mother has tried so many times to match him with many eligible ladies."

"Thank you, Jemma," Coulson said, politely, cutting her words short, as he raised up on his toes nervously and then lowered himself again.

Skye looked over at Coulson with mirth and then put her arm about Jemma and turned her towards the door. "You should tell me all about it as we walk."

Coulson exchanged another glance with her before they disappeared from sight.

"Lovely," Antoine said when they had left. "Such charming women in your company, sir. And lacking airs, the kind of thing I find so tiresome among the wives of officers and political classes."

"Store it up, sir," Coulson said. "When you get to London, you will find it filled with many beasts in frills and tails."

***

"So terribly American! Did you see the size of his  ****brachium? Just divine."

"Jemma!" Skye said, laughing over at her as they strolled down the path that would take them to town.

"It  _is_ a scientific term," she chastised, pointing to the upper part of her own arm.

"Your interests seem daringly unscientific."

"That too," she agreed, with a magnificent smile. "He is very fond of you, surely you must know that."

"Antoine?" Skye asked.  "He is fond of everyone.  The air, the trees, the butterflies. And they are all fond of him."

"No, silly, Mr. Coulson."

"I have never known such a constant stream of kindness all my life," she said. "And yet we have barely formed an acquaintance."

"Mayhap you are more like than not?" she said, kindly, touching her wrist. 

"We are headed for London the morning after the ball," Skye said.

"I know. I was invited."

"By whom?" Skye asked, taken aback.

"Coulson," Jemma answered, pausing to gaze back at Skye.  "Did you not know?"

"But, your parents," Skye said, ignoring her attempt to pry into her level of knowledge.  Coulson  _was_ up to something more, after all.  She felt panic set in.

"Oh, they would object," Jemma said with a charming note to her voice. "Which is why I am not telling them.  Leo is coming as well. His mother delights Coulson has taken such an interest in his career."

"Career," Skye said.  "What does Leo do?"

"He is quite the machinist. His mother considers it a waste of time and an expensive habit to indulge.  But Mr. Coulson seems to find it quite useful and puts him to work on all kinds of things.  I have never seen the results myself."

"Did Coulson have a reason to invite you?" she asked as they resumed walking. "I mean, other than to observe you staring at Antoine and his figure."

Jemma looked around as though she would be found out, but there was no one there.  She leaned over to Skye and whispered in her ear. "He indulges my biologist habit.  He even bought me a microscope.  If I thought the man were interested, I would have married him for that alone."

Skye watched her make a twittering laugh and then stare back at her.  "What?  It is all I want in life.  To dissect things and understand what it all means, the way we are put together, such a divine mystery, I must be indulged, really."

"We are more alike than not," Skye said, hugging her to herself as they continued on, nearly at town.

***

As night fell, he entered the inn and saw the pair of rough boots resting on top of the table.

Such crude manners.

"John, let me buy you a drink," he said, tucking the note that had been delivered earlier this afternoon away into his waistcoat.

"Phillip Coulson. Never thought to find you out in the country. Or perhaps I did? None of your tailored suiting or fine dining in these parts."

The man lifted the glass of whiskey and drank it back.

"I wanted some peace," Coulson said, stepping closer. "How much is Ward paying you to hunt girls?" 

"She is more than a mere girl," he said, turning towards him with a rakish grin and a pair of bloodshot eyes. "Is that a bit of shock I detect? So she has kept her secrets. Heard word she is rather pretty, have you managed to keep all of yours?"

Coulson longed to strike him but held himself in check.  Such a display would not go well for him among the townsfolk.  "You are drunk."

"Tonight? Yes. Tomorrow? No," he said, waving the barkeep over to order another round. "If you run I will find you."

The tone of his words delivered the intended menace and Coulson changed tactics, sitting down beside him at the table.

"We fought as brothers, John but you have sold your soul. Is it worth it, an innocent life in trade for strong spirits?"

"I set my sail so that the wind might catch it," he said.  "I suggest you do the same."

The man brought him another drink and his took it all at once and then brought the glass down hard upon the table.

"This was meant as a courtesy," Garrett said.  

The barkeep eyed him nervously. "Mr. Coulson will settle my bill," he said.

Turning and walking away, he gave Coulson one last disapproving sneer.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skye attempts to flee, Skye divulges her secret, Coulson and his merry band head to London.

"Tonight. Was that your plan?"

Skye startles, her hands are at the reigns as she stands in the stable in the darkness.

" _Skye_."

He emerges from the darkness as her hands let go of the horse guide and she backs herself against the stall.

"Mine as well," he said, approaching to fix the saddle more tightly. "There is a man lying in ambush for you. It may require a permanent..."

"Stop, sir, please!"

"Unless you wish to go with him willingly?" Coulson adds sternly.

"No," she replies, and the fear in her voice is now evidence against her.  

The look and feel of her now is like something trapped in a cage, he can see that even in the cover of near darkness, and it hurts his heart.  He feels the scar against his chest more than ever now, as though it burns him.

"Then let us see you safely to London," he says, sounding less stern and more of his own voice betraying his feeling.

"Coulson. If you bring them into this, the danger..." she says, covering her mouth with her hand.

"They understand the risk and have accepted," he says solemnly.  "We have all taken an oath."

"I cannot bear my consequences becoming theirs," she says, stepping forward to touch his hand over the saddle.

"Skye, I beg you. Let us help you. Tell me why they want you in full, not just in part."

"I did not think clearly about the danger I put you in," she said, taking away her hand and turning her back to him. "You were so capable, and I was so desperate. But now..."

"Now I am the desperate one," he answered, as the silence hung between them. "Again, I beg you."

"And then we part ways?" she said, as though this were a requirement for the conversation to go any further.

"If you wish."  His voice, however, reveals that it is very much not his wish at all.

Stepping into the moonlight from the opening in the barn, she pulls the key out from her bodice.  Were there not secrets between them, were this just the two of them meeting in the evening in secret, his thoughts would head in an entire different direction in this moment.

But, it is not why they are here.  She was going to flee without him.  Chased by spies and mercenaries and men with black hearts.

"It is a key," she says, holding it out to him.  He dares to touch it, running his hands over the silver metal and peering closely in the light at the markings on it. They stir something inside him, as if he has seen it before.

Noting the recognition on his face, she steps closer to him, touching her hand to his. "Have you seen its like before?"

"I cannot say with certainty," he said. "Only that it appears familiar."

She takes it gently from his hand and he watches it disappear again, his eyes falling upon her smooth, brown skin. With one small step she is closer than she has ever been, it seems, and his breath leaves him when she stands on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek.

He shuts his eyes, feeling her fingers slide against his, and he hesitates then grasps her hand greedily as her breathing hitches. They are still cheek to cheek, touching.

"There is nothing here standing between us," she says, sounding almost afraid of her own voice.

His arm goes around her waist, practically shaking with want. Then he remembers himself and their circumstances.  He will not be the ruin of her.

"There is me," he says, sadly, letting go of her and stepping back.

***

On the road to London, Antoine guides the horses onward as Coulson sits in the front with him, keeping a safe distance.

"How have you managed to keep the gentry at bay?" Antoine asks. "Do you keep such peculiar company often?"

"I grease all the wheels where needed," Coulson offers back to the man. "They are happy to paint me as an eccentric as long as I find ways to supply their small habits of extravagance, or occupy their children, as long as they offer no offense to my sensibilities.  People like their comforts."

"Enough to suggest to Mr. Garrett that a girl of color was visiting your village?"

"Yes," Coulson said.  "That. I suspect the vicar, to be quite frank. He is keen to make impressions in London, finds this parish a bit small. And he never invites me to dine," he said with a smile.

Of course, Antoine laughed. 

As Skye stares at Jemma and Leo, each holding a cage with pigeons cooing inside, Coulson leans back with a piece of paper and hands it to Leo.

"Send word ahead."

Leo rolls up the tiny correspondence and opens the cage, gently coaxing out a bird and then making noises of disgust.  "Filthy creatures."

" _Fitz_ ," Jemma says aloud to him in chastisement. 

"Dirty animals, Jemma," he says. "Someday man will fly and handling filthy pigeons will be stories our grandfathers tell."

"My professional name is Simmons," she said. "We have spoken about this many times."

The paper goes into the object tied at the foot of the bird, and Fitz releases it up into the night air. "Done."

"Do you have connections?" Skye asks to Coulson and he turns towards her, carefully balancing the pistol on his lap. 

"We have a network," he smiles. 

Skye sits back in her seat in a huff, and he does feel somewhat sadly for her exasperation, but also that this was one thing she was not able to figure out.  It makes him feel as though his talents have not entirely evaporated.  

He may still be of some use, yet.

***

They arrived late in the evening, among the quiet tents. The three in the back are sleeping as Coulson jumps down from his seat and to the ground.

"Phillip Coulson," the woman says, approaching them, wearing a silken robe with violent tigers painted across it.  "When did I see you last?'

He is unprepared when she aims a hook across his jaw.  He can hear Antoine chuckling in the background and the laugh somehow dissipates the mood between them.

"I seem to be remember being locked in a trunk," she said, her hands on her hips. "And you had the key."

"I did have you let out, eventually," he said, rubbing his jaw and shrugging slightly.  "My apologies were sent by letter."

"I would have preferred it in person under such circumstances," she said, tilting her head towards the carriage.

"My company needs rest," he said. "It is good to see you, May."

"Welcome to the circus," she said with a sigh, crossing her arms and eyeing the sleeping passengers.

He sees a flicker of recognition cross over her face.  "Do you know one of them?" he asks.

"The girl, Skye," May says softly.

There is a warning look on her face.

"Just what have you got yourself into now, Phillip?"

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter: SHIELD

"The circus?" Coulson asked, his company falling in behind May, as they walked among the still but colorful tents.  They had made introductions and Coulson was eager for them to rest up for the morning.

"Helps keep up my training regimen," May said. "And eyes away from my personal affairs.  What else should I be doing?"

"Noted. Surprised that you are not in Canton is all," he answered.

"I came back to London to investigate leads into the opium trade and your government is involved."

"My government," Coulson said, sounding testy.

"Hello Isabelle," Skye smiled waiving at the knife thrower, emerging from a tent.  From inside there was light and the noise of carousing.

"Skye!" Isabelle said in her thick American accent, seemingly intoxicated. Filled with laughter, she threw her arms around her neck. "It has been ages and ages and ages!  You must join us."

Coulson gave Skye a weary look.

"We have traveled from the country in haste and need to rest," Skye said to the other woman.

"The country," Isabelle huffed in disdain. "Oh, good Lord!  How were you abused?"

When Skye replied with nothing but a smile she looked at the rest of them in turn, finally squinting at Coulson.

"Phil?" she asked with a chuckle. "We got your message.  Almost had your bird for dinner."

Simmons opened her mouth to protest but stopped short as the woman put her arm round his shoulder. "You finally have some work for us?"

"I do," Coulson replied.

***

All settled in, Coulson stayed up with May as they shared a nip of scotch and reacquainted themselves.

"There was a rumor, from the Hunan province," May began.  "Two monsters laid waste a village and only their girl child survived."

"Will this shortly implicate the Freemasons?" Coulson asked, feeling a bit cynical about the direction their conversation had taken.

"This is not one of your tabloid conspiracies," May said. "I had it verified.  They said that death follows her wherever she goes."

"Ward follows her wherever she goes," Coulson said, sipping at his drink.  He sank back into the pillows on the floor of her tent.

"She is involved with the Wards?" May said, sighing heavily. "Why do they want her?"

"Not entirely sure," he said. "She believes the younger Ward, Grant, is part of an elaborate plot from the palace."

"Skye has a very fanciful imagination," May began, setting her glass down. "But good intuition.  She picks up skills quite quickly as well."

"Are you suggesting her as an asset to our operations?" he smiled. "She did mention having learned to use a bow and arrow at a travelling circus."

May smiled up at him. "That is all by way of Isabelle, I can assure you.  I just taught her how to handle herself in close quarters."

"Does it involve a meeting of her shoe and the trachea of the other man?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Possibly," May said, shaking her head in amusement and finishing her drink she stared over at him. "These are all very young."

"Quite true," he said, swirling the last dregs of his liquor in the glass.

"Are you determined to help her, then? Risk them all?"

"They knew the risks in signing on," he said. "And I am convicted."

“You have always been sentimental, Coulson,” May said, noting his feeling sitting just below the surface of his expression.

“Am I so obvious?” he asked. “I am so moved by her I fail in describing it with words.”

“You rarely lack for words,” May said. “Rather, just need of the right object to finally put you to silence.”

He sighed for his own sake. “May you should know me better less. I think you seek to embarrass me.”

“You are perfectly possessed in your own ability to exercise such talents.”

“Mockery,” he smiled. “You have such a gift for it.”

***

The next morning, they were all off to the offices of the London Pneumatic Dispatch Company.  Arriving separately as to not arouse too much suspicion.   


May refused to wear Western clothing, preferring a suit in her native style.  Even during undercover, it would take all effort to have her put on some frilly thing that might inhibit her movement.

“So this is how you have so much information,” Simmons said as they walked through the entrance. “You read the letters of every man in London.”

“It is a small amount of help,” he said, coyly. “But what is below might astonish you even more.”

They took the lift down and arrived at a subterranean level.

Inside were people bustling about at work on various operational tasks, carrying equipment and papers back and forth, seemingly oblivious to their arrival.

“May,” Coulson said. “Please show Leo and Simmons to the sciences division.”

May nodded and took the two in tow behind her as they walked away in the distance.

Coulson turned to Skye and Antoine. “I have an introduction to make that should interest you both,” he said, nodding as they followed him down the hall.

When they ended at the back of the tunnel, Coulson flashed a document hidden in his waistcoat and they passed through a gate, as the lights dimmed and then came back up.  There was a door where none had been before.

Coulson turned the handle and they passed inside to a dark room filled the scent of old papers and books, lit about by candles.

“Coulson,” the man behind the desk said, hidden in the darkness.

“Nicholas,” Coulson nodded. “I would like you to meet Antoine Triplett,” he said, stepping forward. “I am recommending him for a position here. He has come a long way from the Americas.”

The man behind the chair leaned forward into the light. His skin was as dark as Antoine’s and he wore a patch over his eye.

“Gabriel Jones was your grandfather?” the older man asked.

“Aye, sir,” Antoine said, his hands behind his back.

“Good man, I hear tell,” he said. “And Coulson has managed to sell your skills quite highly.  You are a ranger?”

“That I am,” Antoine replied.

“We have need of one, it turns out,” he said, rounding the desk and coming to stand in front of him.  He was at least as tall and Antoine and wore all black with tails. 

“Welcome aboard.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coulson's revival is connect to Skye's origins.

“Nicholas, this is Skye,” Coulson said, after Antoine had been dismissed from the room in order to maintain a level of privacy for what was to come.

“Coulson tells me that you have managed to frustrate the Wards.  I should like to give you my personal thanks for making that family sleep less easy,” he said, taking her hand.

“You are very welcome,” Skye replied.

"You have some secrets," he said, and waited patiently as before hesitating, she finally drew the pendant out before him. "So do I," he continued.

Pressing a book in his shelving, a hidden compartment was revealed, hiding some artefacts and an ancient book.

"These markings, I have seen before and Phillip has encountered them as well," Nicholas said, drawing out the book.

"They are familiar but I remember not," Coulson answered, the will to continue speaking caught in his throat.

"You died, Phillip," Nicholas continued. "You still bear the scar. You returned to life upon touching these markings, and we escaped the catacombs. Do you remember this?"

Skye had let her eyes fall on him, he saw there a mixture of sadness and fear at his stricken face.

"I recall recovering and since a restless stirring at all times," he said, regaining his self possession and taking his eyes from her to the other man.

"You have touched this object?" he asked looking to the key Skye held delicately between her fingers.

"He has," Skye spoke out suddenly. "And since his sleep is interrupted at all hours and he draws endlessly."

"You have been spying on me?" Coulson began, turning to her in shock.

"And looking at your drawings," she said impertinently. "For I see the pattern in them. It is my pattern, too!"

Nicholas watched all that passed between them with care.

"I did not wish to disturb you," Coulson said, excusing himself, raising his chin at her slightly.  "You seemed fearful of any revelation."

"I have been at the center of portents and plots since my earliest memories," she answered forcefully. "And had the brief hope I may trust you in all things."

"That would be my wish should you find yourself able to forgive me," he replied earnestly.

"Should I perhaps leave the room and allow you to address each other in private?" Nicholas said, suddenly speaking up.

"Oh, no sir," Skye said, embarrassment in her words. "Please! We can discuss this later."

"How fortunate since I was not at all serious," the man said in a biting tone. "Now, may we return to more pressing matters and leave your intimate talks for later?"

Skye blushed.

"Certainly," said Coulson staring down at the floor.

***

In the middle of the night, her fitful dream awoke her and she felt dampness at her face and across her hands and she left the tent and Simmons stirred but slept on.

She looked over her fondly and then quietly dressed and made her way outside, heading in a singular direction.

"I wonder if we share the same night terrors?" he asked from the shadows, making her nearly jump out of her own skin.

"You must stop doing that," she said with a heavy sigh. "I came looking for you," she went on, before he could ask.

Reaching to her neck she unclasped the necklace and walked towards him, sliding her arms about his neck and fixing the necklace there.

"You must keep this safe," she said. "If my dream is true, you must have this."

"Tell me," he said.  "Your dream."

Placing her arm through the crook of his elbow, they began to stroll in the moonlight.

"We found an ancient city, with your drawings.  A map, as I expected.  My key unlocked it, but only by my touch.  It caused the death of us all.  Not just our company, but the city itself.  The whole of London dwells upon it, Coulson."

"The Wards and their secret society also seek this city. That is what Nicholas believes.  And, their interest in you relates."

"Grant was there, too.  As well as another man, tall and lumbering with dark hair and a ruddy face."

"John Garrett," Coulson answered.

"We must leave it be," she said. "Or so many lives will be lost, I could not count them all."

He put his arms around her as she began to cry against him. "We must find these secrets before them," he said, comforting her.

"And destroy them."

 "You promise this?" she asked, placing her hand on his arm so that they stopped.

He took his hands in hers and lifted it to his lips. "On my honor," he said.

"And is that the first of many promises?" she asked him, the beginnings of warmth taking hold of her.

"Many, many. On my honor," he answered, kissing her hand again, filling her with pleasure to feel the smile on his mouth touching her skin.

***

 Coulson followed in behind the two men, carrying a bloodied Antoine with them, and placing him on the table, Coulson called Simmons over.

"Jemma," he said. "Although I did not wish to press you into service in this way, I am afraid this requires your hand."

"I need water boiled," she said, looking around the tent at the circus performers.  "What happened?" she asked, grabbing a pair of scissors she began cutting away the injured man's clothing.

"They were waiting for us. He was shot with a pistol," he continued. "How may I help?"

"Press your hand down here," she said, putting clean cloths over the wound. She pulled out the leather case she had been furnished with and began pulling out the instruments.

The water returned and Simmons directed them, tossing the instruments inside and then lowering the tongs in to remove them.

"Do we have any morphine?" Simmons asked around. No one replied. "Are you joking?"

One of the men sheepishly muttered, skulked away promising to be back in a moment.

"Where is Fitz?" she asked, lining up the instruments on the tray.

"With May and Hartley. I sent them after Skye."

"What does Skye have to do with this?" she asked, suddenly blanching.

"They took her," he said.  It was the first time he had said it out loud.  

He felt like his heart might stop.

"They had explosives set to detonate in the market.  May said that she had investigated a large shipment of gunpowder that had gone missing traded for opium.  Now we know where.  I am certain we will find a number of murdered Chinese in the river very shortly to cover it up."

"She went with them, she chose it," Simmons said, eyes filling up as she lifted the scalpel and began to open the wound. "Please press down harder, sir."

"Yes, when they shot Antoine and then threatened the crowd next."  He tossed away the bloodied rag as Antoine moaned when she dug at the metal in his shoulder.  

The man returned with his morphine bag and Coulson took it from him, checked the syringe and began to minister it. Antoine stilled and he grabbed some fresh rags as Simmons sighed.

"It missed any vitals," she said.  "As long as there is no infection, he should heal nicely. What will you do now?"

"Wait," he said.

***

"She is with the Wards," May said, walking into the tent.  "How is Triplett?"

"He is resting and Simmons believes he will fully recover."

Fitz went over to his makeshift worktable. "The Wards have harnessed electricity," he said.  "I noticed the wires going in and out of the residence."

"Are you certain?" Coulson asked.

"Well, not with all certainty that exists, but my eyes work quite fine Coulson, thank you."

"What do you think they use it for?" May asked, curious.

"Many uses, probably to light their house for a start."

"Or to revive people," Simmons said.  "There has been an interest in science in passing a current through dead tissue to study electrical impulses in the human brain."

"They have Skye, Jemma," Fitz said, throwing up his arms with animation and sighing.

"Skye is very much alive. I am quite sure," Simmons said, smiling politely.

"Sir," Hartley said, appearing at the tent entrance, holding a knife to the back of a man in a fine suit. "This arrived for you."

"The man?"

Hartley poked at him with the tip of her blade and the man produced a piece of paper and handed it towards Coulson.

"An invitation to dine," the man said with a sneer.

Coulson snatched the paper from him with his handkerchief and looked at the W in cursive on the front.

"Ward."

 "Why would they want you to dine with them?" May asked suspiciously.  "They intend to kill you."

He nodded at Hartley who turned and marched the man back out.

"Not yet.  I have something they want."

"And they have something you want," Fitz said, glancing sadly up at Coulson.

"I must go," Coulson said, stirred up and beginning to look about the room to gather the necessities, his pistol, his jacket.

"You should have a plan," May said. "Before you hand yourself over to them, if you wish to save Skye."

"There is something I have worked on, with Jem-Simmons," he said, looking over at the young woman.  "Magnetic interaction with electrical currents," he said, undulating his hand. "Kerr did an experiment which amused me to follow.  Took on a life of its own, really."

"Is it, whatever it is, ready?" Coulson asked.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner with the evil Ward clan!

The man searched his coat, took away his pistol, as well as his pocket watch and hat.

After he removed his shoes and they were checked, he was allowed to redress and pass into the drawing room.

A man took his coat and he was greeted by a man slightly taller than himself and near to his own age.

“Phillip Coulson,” the man said, taking a bow. “I am Christian Ward. Welcome.”

Coulson smiled at him, but the underlying hostility held by his eyes was unmistakable and the other man made a face that received it in kind.

“Follow me, then.  You should enjoy one last meal.”

He noted the expense of the furnishings and the number of servants and entered the large dining hall with its windows from the floor to the ceiling.

Eyes scanning the crowd, he spotted Skye near the head of the table, quietly seated next to Grant.

When her eyes caught his, she went to stand out of her seat, but then was manhandled to sit down next to Grant.  The strange manner of dress she was in was a mockery of who she was, all lace and bows in her carefully curled hair.

There was an empty spot opposite her across the large table, and the servant directed him toward it, as Coulson looked over calmly at the face of Judge Ward.

His thin and much smaller wife remained in her seat as Coulson sat down beside her.  Next to the mother was a pale girl with a frightful, downcast look.

“How do you find London compares to the countryside?” the man asked, looking up at one of the servants as the food was brought and light conversation began around them.

“I find these days company in the countryside much more pleasant. London has become so peculiar with its progress being all in technology and almost none in the area of justice.”

“Ah, but you met Skye in London,” Grant said, staring across from him, a severe smile on his face.

His eyes flickered over to hers and held them for a moment, as Ward again touched her and she pulled herself away and lifted her fork, holding it tightly.

The mother sat up in her seat, staring at Skye like she was something to be kept in a cage, as Coulson began to stand.

“Soft morality is no kind of morality at all,” the woman said very quietly, leaning towards Coulson.  “Our superiority is in our strength.”

“If all we seek is to obey authority wielded in strength," he said, lowering himself, "How are we anything but animals?”

“Do you prefer us to be educated for dependence or simply elimination?” Skye said quite suddenly.

Mme. Ward had an almost imperceptible sneer, and Coulson noted as well her humiliation seemed to amuse Grant.

“To be useful, of course,” the father said. “Is that not right, Mr. Coulson?”

“To whose use and to what end? Why should one man or woman have power over another, instead of seeing him as an equal?”

“If you wish to disregard all of human history, but then, this might explain your current predicament,” he said, raising his glass to drink.

"You have something we need," the mother said.  "And we have something quite dear to you."

"Although with those manners," Grant said, putting his hand to Skye, along a ribbon adorning her dress sleeve. "I may say you have yet to possess it to the full?"

"Grant," Christian said with loathing. "We are not among your rabble, please keep in mind our mother is present."

"See, though," Grant said, looking from his hard stare at his brother to Coulson. "You now have your confirmation, instead of simply accepting my word."

"The fairer sex Mr. Coulson," Christian said, cutting the food on his plate. "All back to an apple and a garden. One should avoid temptation."

"Was the garden in China?" asked the pale girl suddenly, confused, leaning forward to look around at their faces.

Coulson chose the moment to look at Skye, to smile at her warmly, like they had done so many times before when they were alone in the country cottage.

She managed to forget their circumstances, and gazed back at him, the corners of her mouth catching, as if no one else were in the room.

"Scandalous," the mother said, pushing her plate away from her.  "Get on with it."

"The key," Judge Ward said.  "We would have it, please. In exchange, we will let the girl live."

"She is coming with me," Coulson said calmly.

"Do you have the key on your person?" Christian asked, setting down his napkin.

"I came prepared to deal.  Did you?" Coulson answered, narrowing his eyes, before looking up through the window to the outside. "Electricity," Coulson said, eyes roving over the lights lining the hall.  "How very modern."

The lights in the room flickered out and voices rose in a commotion as dark fell over them all.

***

"You brilliant, brilliant man!" Skye whispered, as she stood with her back pressed to the wall and his jacket open before them. 

"Fitz deserves the congratulations," he whispered.

The men ran by holding lanterns, chasing the images of the two of them in the opposite direction of the hall.  "The suit is wired with a magneto," he said, closing his jacket. "It bends the light, with the lens, providing a kind of illusion.  I probably have little battery left, just a few moments." 

Carried away by excitement, she stood on her toes as he turned to her and kissed him.

"Did you enjoy stabbing Grant Ward with your fork?" he asked, sounding quite dazed.

 She has kissed him.

 "Yes. Shall you steal another?" she asks.  "Quickly."

He kisses her again and finds he is swept under by the feeling of her strength and her smallness contained within his arms.

"Skye, up the stairs," he said, pressing his hand to the small of her back as they crept upwards and towards the rooftop.

"Not yet," she said, touching his arm. "They have my map to the city."

"We have a copy at the offices," he replied. "We will just have to beat them at their own game."

Escaping through the attic, they arrive on the rooftop and standing together, look down. There is a flash of light at the western side.

"There," he said pointing.  "A signal."

Reaching in his coat pocket he pushed at the button on the vest and the lens inside flashed back to return the signal.

"I would say you look lovely," he said. "But, I do despise that dress, it is very unlike."

She had already yanked the ribbons out of her hair and shook them free as a hook deposited itself on the roof.

"Can you scale down the building, or do you need some...," he began as she held to the rope and began sliding down the western facade.

"Nevermind," he said, following after her.

At the ground they rejoined their company and after glad greetings, Coulson began to look for a means to leave the estate unimpeded.

"Coulson, rest assured, May said, noting his observations. "We have thought of everything,"

With a smile, she turned to Fitz who had held up the end of a fuse and Coulson watched it carry away towards the grand entrance to the house where there were barrels of gunpowder positioned.

"Please," he said, turning to Skye, as Fitz held out the box of matches.  

"Do the honors."

"We can take it from here."

Coulson turned to see Nicholas Fury standing in the courtyard with several of their people standing behind him, armed to the hilt. "Heard from a little bird that you were having dinner with the Wards."

"They have a map to the city, sir," Coulson replied.

"Then you had better get there ahead of them," he said. He motioned to his men to fan out across the estate. "Were you planning to blow the place sky high or should we order some tea 'round?"

"We will take Hartley and May in the carriage, but I must return for a copy of the map."

"I took that into account," Nicholas answered, handing the folded paper towards him. "Fortunately for you, I think before I act. Now get lost from here."

He grabbed the box of matches from the hand of the younger man. "I get to do the honors."

"To the city, then," Coulson said, taking a breath and looking over at Skye as they ran together with May towards the carriage.


End file.
